


Scone Wrong

by BrandonStrayne



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Baking, Facebook: The Pen15 is Mightier, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22554502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrandonStrayne/pseuds/BrandonStrayne
Summary: David has the brilliant idea to sell fresh baked scones at Rose Apothecary. Patrick is less than excited to find out that heès the designated taste tester.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38
Collections: Pen15 Challenge 10: New Year New Me





	Scone Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> I have three of the best betas imagineable and I am forever grateful for them.[OllieMaye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/olliemaye), [Drarryismymuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatchersn/pseuds/Drarryismymuse), and [Keep_Calm_and_Expecto_Patronum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keep_calm_and_expecto_patronum), your encouragement and suggestions for improvement are invaluable. Thank you so much for all of your help! Any remaining mistakes are my own.

“David, what are you doing?”

David spun around to see Patrick standing in the doorway of his small one-bedroom apartment, a barely suppressed smirk making his lip twitch.

“Obviously, I am baking,” David said, gesturing down at the apron he was wearing using the spatula in his hand. It wasn’t as if he would be caught dead wearing this lace-trimmed monstrosity for any other reason. That should be perfectly obvious to his boyfriend.

“So I pop out for half an hour to grab us dinner from the Tropical and you decide to start a new hobby?” Patrick shot David a sardonic look as he set down the bag of take-out on the small bistro table and began unpacking the paper containers.

“I will have you know that I have made enchiladas before. I even know how to fold in the cheese. So…” David turned back to the bowl in front of him and poked uncertainly at the mix. In the video he watched, Jamie Oliver said to mix the ingredients together with your hands, but David couldn’t bring himself to do it. Surely that wasn’t hygienic? He was using a spatula instead, but rather than a cohesive dough, it really just looked like a few pats of butter dropped into flour.

“I can’t wait to try your enchiladas, but that’s cooking, not baking,” Patrick said from behind him, but David didn’t turn around.

“What’s the difference?” he snapped as he stared resignedly into the bowl. He was going to have to use his hands.  _ Disgusting _ .

“Well, for one, baking is far more finicky. You really have to pay close attention to your measurements.”

“Yeah?” David asked with mock casualness. He spun around to see Patrick with a smug, knowing look on his face that told David he knew exactly where David’s foray into baking had derailed.

“Yup. And I can’t help but notice that the only thing on the countertop appears to be about half a bag of flour. Did you use measuring spoons and cups?”

David had not, in fact, used measuring spoons and cups. In the video he’d watched, Jamie had just thrown ramekins of ingredients into a bowl, so he had very reasonably assumed that baking was more of an art than a science. Apparently it was more science than he had hoped. He’d always sucked at science—literally, in fact. He’d only managed to get his science requirement to graduate by exchanging a blowjob for his biology term paper. It had been one hell of a BJ—he’d gotten an A+.

“Of course I measured the ingredients. What? You think I’d just throw in a ‘pinch’ of this and a ‘dash’ of that?” David accused. Hopefully, Patrick wouldn’t call him on it.

“Yeah? So then where do I keep them?” Patrick asked as he crossed his arms in front of his chest and watched David expectantly.

David eyed the various cupboards and drawers; Patrick’s kitchen was tiny, so there weren’t many. His chances were pretty good. “In here.” David pulled open the second drawer from the top beside the fridge and shouted in triumph, “AHA! See!”, before pulling the measuring instruments that he definitely had not known were there out and holding them up for Patrick to see.

Rather than looking shamed at making such slanderous accusations about his boyfriend, Patrick merely laughed. “Lucky guess. Now come and eat before this gets cold.”

“It’s a sandwich. It’s already cold.”

“It’s just an expression, David. Now, come eat.”

“Did you make sure to tell Twyla to cut the sandwich diagonally?” David asked as he pulled off the apron and tossed it over the bowl of failed dough.

“Yes, because heaven forbid you have to eat a horizontal or vertical sandwich,” Patrick joked as David took the seat across from him at the small table. “You have some—” Before David knew what was happening and could stop it, Patrick had licked the pad of his thumb and was wiping it over David’s cheekbone.

“Oh, my god! Eww! What are we? Dogs?” David protested, batting Patrick’s hand away and pulling the sleeve of his sweater down to wipe away the wet streak of slobber from his face. Patrick looked entirely unfazed by David’s outburst as he picked up his own sandwich and took an enormous bite. “What’s that...did you get tuna again?!”

Patrick beamed at him, a big mouthful of disgusting, stinky tuna thankfully hidden behind the bright white veneer of his teeth. David regarded his unrepentant boyfriend with a look of disgust as Patrick masticated and swallowed the revolting mouthful.

“You know I hate tuna salad,” David sulked as he lifted the top slice of bread off of his sandwich and rearranged the various sandwich fillings until they promised a perfectly balanced flavour profile with every bite.

“Yes, but I love it,” Patrick shot back before taking another bite of his meal.

“If you loved  _ me _ , you’d order a BLT instead.” David carefully picked up his own sandwich and took a bite, his pinky finger held erect in the air out of habit.

Patrick took a sip of his soda and swallowed before saying, “And if you loved me, you wouldn’t ask me to choose between my love for you and my love for saltwater fish-filled sandwiches.”

David rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t stop the small bud of a smile that pulled at his lips. They would probably still be having this same argument when they were old and knocking on death’s door, and the idea of it filled David with a fizzy, warm feeling. David tried for grave when he threatened, “Fine, but just don’t think that fishy mouth of yours is getting anywhere near mine tonight.”

A delectably smug look lit up Patrick’s face before he replied, “I’m sure we can find something else to do with my mouth instead.” David just stared, gobsmacked, for a moment at the surprising innuendo. At the beginning of their relationship, Patrick was always a little timid when it came to the sexual component, but his confidence was building more and more every day and that gave David a fizzy, warm feeling too. At his expression, Patrick laughed and then changed the subject, “So why did you decide to try and burn down my kitchen, exactly?”

David wanted to balk at the accusation—he was baking, not  _ burning _ . He also wanted to go back to that last thing Patrick had said and discuss in more detail what uses they could find for that wicked mouth of his. Instead, he decided to tell Patrick all about his genius business opportunity.

“I had this  _ fabulous _ idea!”

🌹🌹🌹

Patrick looked up from the ledger as David entered Rose Apothecary. He was wearing that little rubber finger thingie to help him turn the page that David always found strangely sexy. Shaking away the stray thought, he swept over to the cash counter and carefully set down the Tupperware container he was carrying.

“I have a job for you,” David stated, tapping his fingers with excitement against the plastic cover of the container.

Patrick eyed the container suspiciously before looking up at David. “Let me guess, you’ve been baking again?”

Ever since he’d had the genius idea that they should sell freshly-baked artisanal scones at Rose Apothecary, David had probably quadrupled his lifetime total of time spent in a kitchen. Granted, his first few attempts had been unmitigated disasters, but now that he felt like he had a grasp on the basic recipe for scones, he was ready to start experimenting with flavours.

“Yes, and do you know what every chef needs?” When Patrick just stared at him expectantly, David proclaimed, “A taste tester.”

“Where’s Alexis? Maybe she could help you out with that,” Patrick suggested as he quickly returned his attention to the business ledger in front of him. “I’ve got a lot of work to do here to get these books balanced and—”

David couldn’t tell you how to “balance a book” if his life depended on it, but he could spot a brush-off from a mile away. “Ted took Alexis to go get vaccinated for smallpox and typhoon, so—”

“They haven’t vaccinated for smallpox for like forty years, and you definitely can’t vaccinate against a typhoon. I think you mean typhoid,” Patrick cut in.

David flicked the pesky words away with a swatting gesture of his hand. “Fine, typhoid, and I’m pretty sure she said something about smallpox or turtlepox or something, but the point is: Alexis is unavailable, so you are therefore blessed with the honour of being my taste tester.”

Patrick’s shoulders drooped and he resignedly pulled off the little rubber finger thingie. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

“Ummm, your very sexy boyfriend baked you a delicious scone and delivered it to you at work. Try to sound like you appreciate how lucky you are,” David said as he shot his ungrateful boyfriend a dirty look.

“I am very lucky,” Patrick said, the sincerity of his declaration making David mildly uncomfortable. As if he could read David’s mind, Patrick laughed softly and asked, “So what delicious treat did my thoughtful boyfriend bring me?”

David grabbed the edge of the lid but paused before lifting it. “As I’m sure you know, charcoal is all the rage right now.”

“Charcoal? Like in pencils?” Patrick asked, looking both surprised and skeptical.

“No, not like in pencils. Like in…” David trailed off as he realized that he didn’t actually know  _ where _ they got charcoal from. Thinking quickly, he recovered, “face masks. Charcoal face masks are huge on Instagram. All the top influencers and wellness gurus are using them.”

“So people are paying to put pencils on their face?” Patrick asked, still skeptical, but now amused as well.

“There are no pencils!” David shouted. “They’re just like any other face mask you would use”—he paused and eyed Patrick for a second before adding—”well, not that  _ you _ would use.” He was momentarily distracted by the clogged pores on Patrick’s nose, but he forced himself to look away. “They look just like any other face mask, only they’re black and they bind to all the gunk in your pores and pull it out.”

“Sounds painful,” Patrick noted drily.

David ignored him. “And charcoal isn’t just good for face masks. You can also add it to foods.”

“So you can remove all the dirt you’ve eaten?” Patrick joked before a look of understanding dawned on Patrick’s face as he cast a wary look at the plastic container. “David, no…” 

“Yes!” David yanked off the lid of the container and tipped it forward so that Patrick could see the dark baked goods. “We’re going to sell activated charcoal scones!”

Patrick didn’t look nearly as excited by this news as David felt was warranted. “They look burnt.”

David looked down at the scones and then back up at his boyfriend. “They’re not burnt. They’re just black.”

“David, people aren’t going to want to eat black pastries.” Patrick was giving him a look of incredulity, like this supposed fact should be quite obvious to him.

“I disagree. Black is very chic. People love black. A wise woman once said: ‘I’ll stop wearing black when they make a darker colour.’” David reached into the container and pulled out one of his culinary creations and held it out for Patrick.

“Wasn’t that Wednesday Addams that said that?” Patrick asked as he took the proffered black scone and took a suspicious sniff.

“The woman is a genius. Try it.” David put the lid back on the container and watched Patrick expectantly. Patrick took another sniff of the scone.

“It doesn’t smell that bad. Just kind of...earthy? What does it taste like?” Patrick asked as he broke off a corner of the scone and inspected the pitch-black interior.

“I don’t know, you tell me!” David said, exasperated.

“You haven’t even tried it?” Patrick asked.

“A successful salesman doesn’t use his own product.”

“That’s drug dealers, David.” Regardless of his obvious reservations, Patrick put the corner of the scone in his mouth and gave it a few tentative chews before his jaw slowed to a stop.

“What? What is it?” David asked nervously.

“It’s… um… well, it tastes a bit like sand. It’s kind of an odd texture at first,” Patrick said, venturing a few more slow chews before swallowing theatrically and running his tongue along his teeth behind his lips. “It’s not as bad as I was expecting, though.”

Patrick gave David a relieved smile and David's face scrunched up at the sight. Patrick’s gums looked like someone traced around them with eyeliner, a thin layer of black charcoal pooling at the edge of his gums. “Oh… ummm…” David hummed, wondering if he should say something about it.

“What?” Patrick asked, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion at the look David was giving him.

“Nothing,” David said, biting his lips together as his betraying eyes kept darting down to Patrick’s mouth of their own accord. “It’s just, on second thought, I’m not sure that this is the aesthetic we want for Rose Apothecary.”

🌹🌹🌹

“I think you’re really going to be impressed by this one,” David confidently proclaimed as he transferred one of his newest creations onto a small bread plate.

“This isn’t going to leave my teeth dyed purple or something, is it?” Patrick asked suspiciously. He still liked to bring up the activated charcoal snafu at least once a day, despite that being over a week ago.

“The last batch didn’t dye your teeth black. It all came off as soon as you brushed them.” David sighed and rolled his eyes, his back to Patrick. Honestly, he was such a drama queen sometimes.

“Yes, but that wasn’t until eight hours later! You could have at least told me!”

He probably should have told him, but he just hadn’t wanted Patrick to say he told him so. But in his defence, he hadn’t known that Ronnie would happen to come in and then proceed to tell everyone she saw that they had to stop by the Apothecary and check out Patrick’s teeth. David really shouldn’t be held accountable for Ronnie’s gossipmongering.

“Don’t worry, there’s no strange colouring or anything in these ones,” David assured him as he walked over to the couch and took a seat beside Patrick, sitting sideways on the couch with one leg tucked underneath him.

Patrick muted the rerun of Corner Gas that he had been watching and took the plate that David offered him. Sniffing the scone, he looked confused. “What flavour is it? It smells sort of familiar, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

“It’s a surprise,” David said, smiling. He really thought he had hit the bullseye with this flavour combination. It was sweet and tangy merged into a perfect symphony of flavour. At least, that was the goal.

Patrick gave him a suspicious look, but he still picked up the scone and took a bite. His expression was contemplative for a few bites until his nose scrunched up and a pained expression crossed his face.

“Ith thith oranthe an minth?” he asked through a mouthful of partially chewed scone, small flecks of the pastry flying out of his mouth and onto his lap with each word.

“Orange and mint? Yes! How does it taste? You never see that combination anywhere. It’s so…  _ bold! _ ” David watched eagerly as Patrick chewed the remainder and swallowed it down. His confidence began to recede when Patrick made a strange motion with his mouth that looked vaguely like a cat trying to hack up a hairball.

“Have you ever taken a drink of orange juice right after brushing your teeth? It tastes a bit like that,” Patrick eventually managed to get out.

David figured this probably wasn’t the right time to tell Patrick that he had actually used toothpaste in the dough—Patrick didn’t have any mint extract and David hadn’t wanted to run all the way to town to get some. Patrick was probably just being overly dramatic again.

“Let me try. I have a more refined palate than you do.” David broke off a small piece of the scone and popped it into his mouth. He took a few bites and had to admit that Patrick was not just being dramatic. “Ith no’ tha’ ba’,” David said around the mouthful of barely chewed scone.

Patrick grinned at him and held the plate up under David’s chin. David gratefully spat out the goopy mess of orange peel and toothpaste scone.

“Back to the drawing board?” Patrick asked smugly, setting the plate down on the coffee table and settling back into the couch as he unmuted the TV.

“Mmm hmm, yes,” David agreed.

🌹🌹🌹

David pulled open the door of Rose Apothecary and before he could even say anything, Patrick greeted him with a loud, “No. No more scones.”

The customer that was perusing their honey and coffee face scrubs turned and gave them a startled look and David smiled apologetically at them. “He’s prone to outbursts. That scrub is great for scrubbing away dead skin cells and it goes great with that moisturizing face balm. Just put a little dollop of that on after you’ve exfoliated and your skin will be fresh as a baby.”

The customer was appeased and turned back to the products and David glared at Patrick, who to his credit did seem somewhat abashed by his outburst. In a much quieter voice, he asked, “Isn’t there someone else that can act as your taste tester?”

“Alexis is off buying hiking boots with Ted for their Galapagos trip, my mother is at a Jazzagals rehearsal and my father and Stevie are busy dealing with one of the guests at the motel—something about a suspicious stain.” David’s face scrunched up as he said it; even that amount of information was more than he really wanted to know. Thank god he’d been spending most nights at Patrick’s—he no longer had to devote nearly as much mental energy into actively not thinking about what germs could be lurking on any given surface of the motel.

“Can’t this wait until one of them are available, then?” Patrick asked desperately.

“Scones taste best within the first few hours of coming out of the oven,” David explained and Patrick’s shoulders drooped with resignation.

“Fine. What flavour am I trying now?”

“It’s a surp—” David began, but Patrick interrupted him.

“No surprises. I want to know exactly what I’m eating this time, David.”

“Fine, if you want to sacrifice the joy of the surprise,”—Patrick rolled his eyes at this, but David ignored him—“this time it’s vanilla and rose petal.”

“Rose petals?” Patrick asked, looking intrigued. “That’s actually a great idea. Built-in branding with the Apothecary.” David gave his boyfriend a patronizing smile; David was the branding expert between the two of them. Patrick continued, “And you’ve used edible roses? These aren’t going to poison me or anything?”

“All roses are edible, actually,” David corrected Patrick. Honestly, the man had trust issues sometimes. “Stop stalling and try one.”

Patrick took the scone that David held out and sniffed it. His left eyebrow rose and he nodded slightly. “Smells good. Not too overpowering.” David watched nervously as Patrick took a bite of the scone, holding his breath as Patrick thoughtfully took his first few chews. “That’s actually really good!”

David beamed and clapped his hands together in excitement at Patrick’s pronouncement. He’d been experimenting for weeks and this was, by far, the most receptive that Patrick had been to any of his culinary creations.

“I knew it! I knew these would be the ones! And it’s such a great marketing opportunity to be able to advertise that they’re local. We could even put a little sign up that they are made using roses from the Moira’s Rose’s Garden! I was thinking we could even sell four for $8.56 as a little joke. We’ll have to get a cute little pastry stand for them; we’ll have to go antiquing this weekend and—”

“Did you say that you used roses from your mother’s garden outside?” Patrick asked. David turned back to him when the upset tone registered and his brows drew together in confusion at the look on Patrick’s face.

“Yes, locally sourced ingredients are very trendy—what’s wrong with you?!” David asked in shock as Patrick began coughing and chugging back water from the water bottle he kept under the cash counter.

“You just made me eat poisons, David!” Patrick shouted, his chest heaving and spilt water causing his shirt to stick.

David spun around at the sign of the bell to see their lone customer making a hasty retreat around the corner, casting scared looks back at them through the windows.

“What are you—”

“They spray those flowers with pesticides, David,” Patrick shouted as he pulled out his phone and began typing feverishly on it.

“No. No, I asked Roland!” David protested. “He said they use organic products for that.”

“‘Organic’ doesn’t mean it’s safe to consume, David!”

“Oh my god! How would I know that!” David cried defensively. “What are you doing?”

“I’m looking for the number for poison control,” Patrick bit out and David wrapped one arm around his torso uncomfortably as he chewed nervously on the thumb of his other hand.

🌹🌹🌹

An hour later, David tentatively stepped back into Rose Apothecary with a large takeaway cup of mint tea in his hand. Fortunately, poison control had told Patrick that as long as he wasn’t experiencing any symptoms like dizziness, nausea, and vomiting, then he was more than likely fine. Deciding that Patrick probably needed a little time alone, David had meekly said that he would go get Patrick a tea and had run away with his tail between his legs.

“I had Twyla put in two teabags for you,” David said, hoping that Patrick accepted the coded mea culpa.

“Thanks,” Patrick said flatly, taking the tea but not looking up at David as he jotted something down, eyes darting back and forth between the computer screen and the paper he was writing on.

David stood there awkwardly for a few moments before the guilt broke him down. “I’m so sorry, Patrick! I honestly never in a million years thought that it would be dangerous. I thought organic meant that it was healthy!”

Patrick sighed and then looked up at David, offering him a weak smile. “I know you didn’t do it on purpose, but listen, we need to talk.”

David bit both of his lips together as he nodded. Obviously this scone idea was an epic failure. He’d accidentally poisoned his boyfriend, for god’s sake! It was time to throw in the towel on this.

“The scones were a stupid idea—”

“We need to find a professional bak—”

They both stopped abruptly and eyed the other. “You first,” David said.

“We need to find a professional baker for these scones,” Patrick said.

“You… want to sell the scones?” David asked incredulously.

Patrick nodded and one corner of his mouth pulled into a half-smile, which was more than David could hope for considering he’d just been accidentally poisoned. “Other than the poison, it was actually really good, and I think it would be really popular.”

“Oh,” David was having trouble knowing what to say as he was so thrown off guard. “Then… why do we need to hire someone else to make them?”

“Two reasons,” Patrick began. “One, our insurance premiums will skyrocket if we poison our customers and a baker will know where to source safe ingredients, and two, you said it yourself that they taste best within a few hours of being baked.”

“And?” David asked, not seeing the problem there.

“And do you want to get up early every morning to bake multiple batches of scones so that they’re ready for when we open?”

David began to protest but stopped, his mouth hanging open for a few seconds as he contemplated what Patrick said before he slowly closed it. He definitely did not want to do that; mornings were best spent unconscious.

“I suppose we could try to find someon—”

“Here’s a list of bakeries within fifty kilometres.” Patrick held up the notepad that he’d been writing on and thrust it in David’s direction. David took the proffered pad of paper and scanned the list casually.

“I’ll start making calls,” he said, chancing a shy smile in Patrick’s direction.

“I’ll be here monitoring my vitals,” Patrick said, returning the look until David bloomed into a wide grin. David nodded and stepped around the counter to go into their back storage room/office area. “And David?” Patrick added and David came to a halt. “Thank you for the tea.”


End file.
